


INTIMACY

by MOFO_BL



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band), VerKwan - Fandom
Genre: Boo Seungkwan-centric, Chwe Hansol | Vernon-centric, Coming of Age, M/M, verkwan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28215246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MOFO_BL/pseuds/MOFO_BL
Summary: A Verkwan fic to explore a coming of age arc for both characters.Seungkwan and Vernon have both always felt connected to each other, but both of them dealt with their revelations very differently. After their falling out, final among multiple before, they haven't reconnected for years. When a coincidence leads them to meet again, would they make the best of it? Or would they ruin this chance too, much like they always have?
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Chwe Hansol | Vernon
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Start Again

**Chapter-1**

** START AGAIN **

I suppose I don't share the common feelings towards grey skies that people generally would. It may have something to do with how much I love cooler winds and somber sunshine. Clear skies and bright days have no beauty. And night sky in the city wouldn't give you any stars anyway, which is shame as that would be next favorite configuration of the sky. A cloudy sky with evening shadows is what beauty is all about. You hide some, you shine through some. It filters down to reality, where some parts of us are revealed only sometimes but all of you is not necessary for brilliance. On a late evening like this is when I love driving the most.

Driving in silence is now a habit, which surprises my friends a little sometimes when they get into my car because I used to be the playlist master for every occasion. Not to say that I’ve been dethroned, because I cannot be dethroned by my friends’ playlists, but when I drive alone it’s only rarely now that I get joy in singing or nodding along to music. The psychologist says it’s nothing to worry about and I mostly agree. He says that I’m not substituting the music for anything negative; I’ve just found comfort in the silence. And I would agree, except it’s not silence, I realize now.

It’s a constant train of thoughts. I’ve found comfort in them even though I use up brain juices too much then. It’s tiring at the end of the day but at least the thoughts keep themselves on the reasonable side. Also reasonable enough a substitute for the absence of music is driving itself. Sure my love for driving never reduced through the years but I enjoy it with silence now, instead of with 4 friends hollering at high school’s hit songs. Those were good days, but the days are good even now, even if we’re all separate in our careers.

So it’s not silence, I must counter my psychologist the next time I see him. It’s rather me appreciating the lights, the skyscrapers, the occasional peek of the moon, the seamless coordination between my limbs and my car and all the things I can observe. To drive in an evening like this removes me from my body and be external. To think of myself and the city and the sky through a freed sense of thought makes me smile. I sigh. “I’m thinking too much,” I say aloud to myself, which is ironic as I continue to think about how I’m thinking.

I sometimes wonder if I’ll drown in my own thoughts if I let them run too freely.

I park my car and walk towards the bar. The chill is welcome on my cheeks as I nod at the security guard and enter the open door. The usual stares are welcome too. However, being a regular, I don’t attract a large pack of eyeballs in my direction. I know the usual faces and they know me. Unhindered, I walk to the counter and nod in acknowledgment at the bartender.

“Wanna have something different tonight? Instead of the usual?” he asks me with a grin.

“Like what, Sam?”

“Like me, Boo.” His grin gets bigger as I roll my eyes. I can’t help but smile at the boy however. He’s a nice soul to have as a bartender. “Give me the usual, Sam. I’m happy with my usual self.”

“You sure you happy? Cause all this-”, he proceeds to point towards his body, “can make you happier.” Or maybe his nice soul is getting tarnished with the sexual charges of all the people he serves.

“If your body could make me happier I wouldn’t be out here drinking now would I? Your body ain’t it.” I tell him. He laughs and concedes, preparing my drink. I watch him as he pours it for me and thank him. He always makes sure my drink turns out the way I want it to. With my beautiful but gay looking cocktail I walk towards my seat. Passing by the dance floor is a noisy affair, but thankfully the music is good enough and people don’t crowd around the dance floor. I take my seat and set my phone on the table. I shouldn’t get calls at this time but who the fuck knows.

I take a sip of my cocktail and sit back. Something about what he asked irks me more than it should. Am I sure that I’m happy? I do know that I’m not sad or depressed. Normal job stresses aside, I’m fine I suppose. Not being sad does not equate to being happy though. I might be stuck in the middle. I suppose being stuck in the middle isn’t so bad is it? I have my usual friendly outings, my usual stressful meetings, my usual driving fun and my usual pondering. All of that doesn’t make me overall happy or sad.

What does it make me then? Normal? Or just unsubstantial?

I turn to look at the dance floor and imagine being a part of the crowd, like I have been before. The lights are enticing, the thumping bass is magnetic, the reflections and the smoke all alluring. For all its annoyance the herd of people is also exciting. You bump here and there, but when a crowd becomes your crowd even if it’s under influenced delusion of alcohol, the high is gravitating. I would walk in and join again but I can’t afford to be more physically tired than I am. Work life takes its toll.

My attention zones in on the dance floor. A familiar beat pattern pushes through the haze in my ear and I get trapped looking at two boys, dancing close to each other. Intimate, carefree and rebellious, I see myself in them. Lost. How freeing it was to be lost and remove my guards. No one could see me, neither did I care about where I was. Just me and the arms holding me. Just me and the body next to me, close, unhinged and hooked to me. That one night is so well engraved into my memory. He was smitten, I was his revelation. If I could, I would’ve lost myself into him completely. But I let him lead, let him explore how much he could mould into me.

Maybe I did take a risk that day, knowing that it could only be possible amidst this careless crowd that he could stop caring about them too and just see me. Facing each other and dancing slow, I could see in his eyes that he was letting go; as we continued, he began to only see me. That’s all I had wanted, for those eyes to melt when they saw me. When he melted, he wanted more. His hold loosened and he slipped his hands inside my t-shirt, holding my bare waist and pulled me tighter.

Glass shatter behind me and it brings me out of my lost train of thoughts. Memories. It’s been 5 years but his memories are still the strongest. The chills down my spine make me shake my head. I look down at my drink. There’s still half of it left. As my vision zooms out of my drink, I see someone has taken a seat opposite me. I recognize who he is before I can see the man clearly.

Think of the devil and the devil doth appear, I guess.

“Hi, Seungkwan,” Vernon says. He had to raise his voice a little.

“Hi,” I speak back. I’m self trained to not falter, even if he manifested out of my vivid memory and in front of me. Even if it’s been years, I don’t falter.

“You looked a little lost there,” he says with a friendly smile. Approachable, that’s good.

“I didn’t know I was going to have company,” I countered back.

"Wouldn't it be better if you had company, moreover in a place like this?"

"That would depend on the company, wouldn't it?" I reply pointedly. He nods and doesn’t say anything back. It’s weird that we’re testing the waters instead of the normal “hi, how are you?”, but I wouldn’t have expected anything else. He does look fine. More mature, grounded, stable. I gotta get a good look into his eyes though. My mind doesn't make a big deal out of seeing him after so many years and I'm happy about that. I don't need a barrage of emotions regarding him.

I can see that he is potentially nervous as he takes a gulp of his beer and avoids my eyes. So I guess I’m still the one who can look straight at the other. I never had anything to hide and still don’t. But should I continue the conversation? I’ve forgiven him for what he did of course, but should I converse as if we’re old friends?

“How are you here?” I ask him, emphasizing on the last word. It may not be a gay bar but it’s a gay friendly bar and tonight is gay night. Finding him here is not something I considered possible.

“I was here with some friends few tables down. I saw you. So I ditched them, came here. Figured I would…” he pauses.

“Figured you would what?” I poke at it with a smirk. I know it’s awkward but we’re here now. So I’ll get on with it.

“Talk, I guess?” he answers and smiles, defeated. He knows I’m playing. He knows he’s already at a disadvantage. I caught his awkwardness and brought it out. It doesn’t irk him though. I see his eyes clearer. They seem calm yet there’s something I can’t quite catch yet.

“You look better,” I say. I mean it. I can’t gauge him correctly right now but he looks very controlled, if a bit awkward.

“Yes,” he nods. “I will not spontaneously jump out in an angry fit.”

“Wow, self deprecation. That’s new.”

“Can’t always be the same, Seungkwan.”

That makes me shift my posture. I steady myself straighter on my seat and begin to say something. But he cuts me off by snatching off my drink and taking a sip, leaving my jaw dropped.

“Green apple,” he says with a smile and gives me back my drink. I clutch it tighter in an effort to show that he cannot snatch it again. “Wanna try mine?”

“That’s just a boring beer,” I retort.

“And that’s a feminine party,” he mentions my drink. I know it’s a joke.

“Ah, still judgmental,” I say.

“Just stating facts.”

I’m looking hard into his eyes and he seems very controlled. Am I being too cautious? Am I thinking too much? Because he seems to be fine. Am I the only one carrying the baggage of our past? And can he see my caution? He’s looking straight at me occasionally and I don’t want to falter. But am I supposed to talk to him like old friends? That’s not right.

“Seungkwan, I wanted to-” he gets cut off by my phone ringing. It’s Chan.

Freaking Chan.

“I have to leave now,” I say to Vernon sipping clear my drink and getting up to leave. For a moment he sits unmoving but he quickly follows me.

“What is it Chan?” I say picking up the call in irritation. My free time is not finished yet! I can’t quite hear what Chan is saying as I walk by the dance floor. My stupid self not paying attention bumps hard into a man. I don’t have a chance to stumble back as Vernon catches me from the sides, keeping me standing straight. The man I bumped into turns around in anger, ready to say something but Vernon cuts him off. “Don’t,” Vernon says, eyeing the man strongly to not fight. I let the men square off and head outside. They can be dudes all night for all I care.

“Can you hear me now, Chan?” I ask once outside.

“Yes. Get back to office,” he replies.

“My hour is not up!” I yell in irritation.

“You shouldn’t have a free drinking hour in the first place!” Chan annoyingly states back.

“I need it. So I have it,” I simply state.

“Get what you want but you have a flight to catch tomorrow first thing in the morning! I’m not carrying your hungover ass to the airport again.”

“That happened once!” I yell again. Chan has a way of getting me fuming. Vernon makes out of the bar and stands next to me. I look at him and he looks at me. He’s okay.

“Onisawa wants you to settle at 3%,” Chan gets to the actual reason of the call.

“Tell Onisawa that he needs _me_ , not the other way around. 2% or we walk, I have others to entertain,” I say as I start walking to the parking lot. I take out my car key from my pocket.

“Okay, then,” Chan replies. “Come back quick. We need to prep for tomorrow.”

“Yes, I’ll be back quick.” As I keep the phone in my pocket I hear Vernon let out a huffed sigh as he follows me.

“Not my boyfriend,” I say to him, regarding who I was talking to.

“I can guess from what I heard,” he says, side eyeing me. “He must be a coworker.”

“Glad to see you not jump to conclusions,” I poke.

“Yea, sorry about that,” Vernon says.

That’s surprising. I turn to get a look into his eyes. They’re hazy, but calm. I guess some things have changed. Back then he would’ve been oblivious to what I was implying by my words. Not that it needed decoding, but the man next to me is listening and understanding a sarcastic remark perfectly. Even replying by surprisingly acknowledging the remark.

Maybe that part in him has changed.

I reach my car and see that an identical car, except the colour, is parked next to mine. Vernon unlocks that car.

“An E90 M3. Mine’s black. Yours dark grey. Coincidence?” I ask with a raised eyebrow towards Vernon.

He sheepishly grumbles about it being a nice car and all and it being a coincidence but I don’t have the time or energy to poke about what it would imply. I look at the time. I do have some time to spare but I don’t know where to go from here with him. What should I say?

“It was nice seeing you,” he cuts off my thoughts.

“You too,” I reply. I smile. However cautious I may have been, it’s actually nice to see him be better. And I’m fine with that.

“I’ll get going then,” I tell him. He nods. His face says that he would’ve liked something more to come out of this, but I don’t know what that would imply either. It’s happening too quickly. If I had more time to think maybe I would’ve stopped to hear if he had anything more to say. But I can’t gauge him too quick and jump forward. I get into my car and begin to reverse it out of the parking space. He keeps standing next to his car as I pass him. He gives a small Vernon like wave; I give a small Seungkwan like wave. I watch him on my rear view mirror and he’s looking at my direction. I shake my head and look forward. It’s fine.

As I almost exit the parking lot, I get a call. I pick up without looking. “Chan, I swear-”

“It’s me,” Vernon speaks into the call. I stop the car at the end of the parking lot. I look back at Vernon through the mirror and sure, he’s on his phone, looking at my direction. I check my phone to look at the number. It’s familiar.

“You didn’t change your number, huh?” I ask him, as I sit back in my seat and turn off the engine. Since he’s talking, let’s talk.

“I use a new one. But I also use this old one,” he says simply. It’s not like I can understand the honesty in his words just from his voice that well. But he sounds hopeful, almost.

“But I did change my number. How do you have it?” I ask him.

“I kept track,” he replies.

“Of my number?” Of me?

“Of your number,” he mirrors my words and sentiment. “You didn’t?”

I pause. Because he caught me. “No, I didn’t.” I may not have saved his number or such, but we have mutual friends from back then. We both definitely keep track of each other. And that's what he's asking me.

“You looked like you’re good, Seungkwan,” he says and then sighs. He doesn’t welcome the chill of the night like I do. He never did back then. I guess some things haven’t changed.

“Yes. I’m good,” I reply. “And like I said, you look better.”

“Yeah.”

He wants to keep talking. But I understand that he doesn’t want to cross any lines with me. He’s cautious too. But he’s not as good at gauging me as I am at gauging him. If he could, he would know that he could say whatever he wanted to say. I wouldn’t mind. He isn’t the only one who’s changed. I’ll have to allow him to take a step, otherwise he won’t say much. If he wants to talk, let’s allow him to.

“It’s okay,” I assure him. “You can say whatever you want to say.”

“Would that be okay?” he asks anxiously.

“Yeah,” I nod. I’m not sure where he’ll take this but I can handle it. “What else do you have to lose when it comes to me?”

“That’s …true,” he admits.

I watch him run his hand through his hair once and collect himself. He knows I’m watching, like it’s making him even more anxious that I’m watching. The silence creeps back between us before he starts with a sigh.

“It’ll sound stupid, alright?” He says. “I was parked at the other side when I arrived. But as I was walking towards the bar, I saw an E90. I knew you had an E90. It was black, like yours. It was parked in the corner, just like you would have if it was yours. So I brought my car next to that one.”

He sighs.

“But I was hoping it was yours. Could I actually have this coincidence given to me? Wouldn’t that be brilliant? So I thought I’d see you inside. I mean, I hoped I would. I didn’t see you on the way in, I was with a group and we hurried to the back so I couldn’t look anyway. But later I thought I saw a glimpse of you, few tables ahead of us. I couldn’t be sure, so I walked over. And it was you. So I ditched them, cause I knew if I got this one chance then I can’t miss it.”

He pauses, so I interject. “A chance to do what exactly?”

“…to talk?” He says with a chuckle. It’s stupid, it really is. A stupid coincidence. “I wish it was longer than 10 minutes.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “But do you think anything would be different? Wouldn’t we still have walked separate ways at the end of it?”

“I guess so,” he replies. Silence creeps back between us. His gaze isn’t flinching; it’s straight ahead at my car. I’m despicable. I feel vulnerable, even inside the walls of this car. He’s looking right at me, and I’m stuck. Self training for not faltering on the outside doesn’t help my inner emotions I suppose. This man looked at a car and thought of me. How much does he think of me then? I’m looking at a man whose hope got rewarded and it shows. I can’t squash it, can I? But should I? Do I even like him the same way anymore? Or are these just leftover emotions from my past spilling out? Do I even know him anymore?

“Seungkwan,” he says, almost dejectedly, “it was really great to see you. I really mean it.” And I know he does. I know he actually means it. This man-

“You really believe that we won’t be seeing each other again, huh?” I give the man some hope. As much as I know him, I know myself too. My feelings may have changed but then it’s not like somewhere in the corner of my emotional baggage he isn’t present. He is.

“Are you sure?” he asks me.

“Aren’t you?” I ask back. If something has to start again then it has to start from him. He knows it. Cause I’ll allow the man to be better. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, that he will be better. I’m old enough to handle all the repercussions of it falling to shambles anyway. I’ve done it before, I can do it again. If he wants to take one step ahead, I’m willing to look back at him.

“You really won’t say my name either, huh?” he says after a while.

“Work for it,” I reply without thinking. He laughs and I chuckle. “I’ll be going then.”

He mutters a small yes and I cut the call, driving away. He watched till I was out of sight. I guess I had been avoiding his name. I don’t think it was intentional, maybe it’s just something I refrained from using through the years. He noticed something small of that sort. But I guess we always did notice things like that about and between each other. So I guess he was waiting for it.

I drive in silence again, with my thoughts. I had an urge to continue the conversation, because I left it hanging it the middle. There’s no conclusion. It’s like I provided him a portion of myself to hold on to. It’s like his corner is 10 minutes bigger in my baggage now. This man-

This man.

Hansol.

Not my ex. But someone who could’ve been the one and only.


	2. Predicaments

** Chapter – 2 **

** Predicaments**

*6 years back*

I’m the last one to enter. Not because I’m lazy or late, but because I live the farthest out of us 6. And even though we hang out together almost every day, meaning it’s obvious that there would be some sort of plan for the weekend, some plans just get birthed in a few minutes and we flock like pigeons to the decided place, provided we’re not going someplace on wheels, which would then need Wonwoo pick everyone up. Why Wonwoo? Because there’s 6 of us, and thus a normal car won’t do. We need a damn 7-seater and Wonwoo has a 7-seater. I’m not a fan of big cars like that because they look ungainly and drink too much fuel, but at least it’s a Kodiaq. As a family car, I give it a complete pass.

As I enter I can hear the chatter from the floor above. I yell a quick hello to Wonwoo’s mother who was in the kitchen and tell her that I’m proceeding upstairs. Wonwoo’s house is spacious and white. I climb the stairs and they are white too. The walls are white too. It’s so much white, simply offset by the colors of furniture and décor. The brightness and expanse of the house carries to his room as well, hence why we usually flock to his house as a group. I walk past the open door and enter the room. I’m greeted by a fusion of grumbled acknowledgment at my entry, with Soonyoung being the only one who greets a loud hello. I like the simpler grumbles of acknowledgment over this loud mouth because we were all together last evening anyway. “Yes,” I say to the loud hello and close the door behind me. God knows no one else would have anyway.

Perks of having a rich friend with an expansive house? The big rooms have big beds and loads of room on the floor to sit. And that’s what we do. Some on the bed, some on the floor. I see Soonyoung, Wonwoo and Hansol on the bed, talking heatedly over a magazine while Coups and Minghao are sitting on the floor, playing Mortal Kombat on the console. On the one hand there’s fatality gore on the floor, on the other hand there’s straight boys ogling at God knows what magazine. I choose the bloody floor, farthest away from the maniac Soonyoung on the bed.

Coups shuffles a little to the side as I sit next to him, yelling “punch, bitch!” at the screen. I suck at fighting games, but they’re very entertaining. Especially since you can murder someone virtually. They seem like a good laugh but I’m more of a racing games kind of guy. “Boo,” Wonwoo chips from the back. I turn only to suddenly be greeted with a magazine flying in my direction. I’m quick to catch it though, protecting my face. I glare at Wonwoo who sheepishly smiles and says, “Top Gear. Take it back.” I nod and habitually make a quick inspection of the pages by shuffling through them. All seems okay, no tears and damage. I look back at Wonwoo and he’s holding up another magazine, showing me the front. The stupid white room reflecting all lights makes it hard to see the face of the cover with the glare on it.

“Evo? This month’s Evo, right?” I ask, beaming.

“Yes. Take it, at least you’ll have something to do here,” he replies, handing me the magazine. I take the magazine excitedly and sit back down with it. It’s not that I don’t buy my own magazines. I buy 3 of them every month, all car magazines of course, and pass them to the guys if they want to go through them. This month I ran low on cash and bought only 2. Wonwoo and I mostly exchange magazines and books, my magazines and his books. But if somehow I run low on cash, Wonwoo always gets me my magazines. I would’ve felt guilty but then he does get it for himself too cause he actually reads them. He’s rich so he can get them anytime. It’s just an unspoken agreement between us that I get the car magazines and he gets the books. He also buys adult magazines and fashion magazines and health magazines and what not. One wall in his room is just shelves and shelves of books and magazines. Needless to say, money well spent.

The room continues to be filled with noise from every mouth while I silently go through the pages in front of me. I don’t mind the noise. This group of friends is good to have and these noises covering the room let me know how everything is positively great, at least as a group. We don’t need to have an event to gather, we don’t even need to be doing anything at all sometimes. And that’s fine. Sitting around, not caring much and enjoying time is meaningful too, at least to me. I like the unsaid bond between us. We can hang out for hours, all 6 of us doing anything together or simply doing things separately in smaller groups. Everyone has a mobile to indulge themselves individually as well anyway, and no one minds. “Unless they holding back the bros for the hoes”, as Soonyoung’s ever-single-ass says.

An hour passes by and the boys on the floor are still affixed on their places. I look behind me and see that the boys on the bed have deviated from ogling at the magazines. Wonwoo and Soonyoung are discussing over what looks like an assignment while Hansol is at the corner of the bed, playing on his phone. His eyes are sharp, almost fierce. I watch him as he drops the phone on the bed, sighing and running a hand through his hair, looking first to his left at Wonwoo and Soonyoung, and then to his right. There’s nothing to his right, just an empty table and chair. He doesn’t look at the front. His twitchiness lets me know that he knows from the corner of his eye that I’m watching. Hence, he won’t turn. I avert my gaze and look straight ahead at the TV screen, Evo on my lap. I’m looking at the loading screen for the next match but my mind is on Hansol. He’s literally the farthest from me, which is always a clear indication that something is wrong.

Coups looks at me, then looks back at the bed boys, then looks back at me again. “He’s not sitting next to you, huh?” He asks me quietly. Minghao can still hear him but that’s fine. It’s not like we’re discussing trade secrets.

“It doesn’t matter, Seungcheol” I reply.

Because it really doesn’t matter. Last evening wasn’t even a mess of any sorts yet Hansol has to get all sour about something that shouldn’t even be a big deal. And if I haven’t done anything wrong, why should I care? He can be an angry bird till his brain fries, I don’t care.

“Want me to help out?” Coups asks me, with the straightest face possible.

“As much as I’d prefer things to be normal, this is still fine. He’ll come around,” I reply with a nod. Coups doesn’t say anything back and goes back to his game. I know Coups is just concerned, but Hansol always comes around.

The sole predicament is that with Hansol there’s only a matter of coming back to me, not someone else. He doesn’t have these angry fights with others; just me. The others are audience. I don’t try to think about the implications of that as it just makes me feel either specially treated or exclusively hated. Mostly it’s just a mix of the two. His usual self treats me like his best friend, but his usual self also has numerous problems with me. I shake my head to not think about it.

“Gather gather sons. Let’s play together,” Coups announces taking out the Uno cards from the big drawers under the big TV. Everyone chimes in quick agreements and proceed to the floor. Habitually we sit in a circle but I pointedly let Coups sit between me and Hansol. Everyone other than Hansol looks at Coups like he’s out of place. Coups looks back at everyone like he’s a deer caught in headlights. Coups then looks to his left at Vernon and then quickly to his right at me, like he’s caught in a crossfire.

Poor Seungcheol.

“You want to exchange places?” Coups asks me. He wouldn’t ask Hansol cause everyone knows Hansol would just say no. Whereas I just shrug my shoulders and nod. It doesn’t matter much to me. I have nothing to hide and I’m not the reason for the tension between me and Hansol. He’s just being an angry little shit. I switch places with Coups and warily sit out of touch from Hansol. I look at others to see how they react to the situation but everyone’s back chattering. I guess they just think it’s better for Hansol and I to be sitting like we always do because directly helping does no good. They know eventually Hansol and I go back to normal within hours.

What an embarrassing predicament. Just that one predicament.

As we begin playing, not even minutes pass and Hansol’s knee brushes against mine, and he keeps it there. I notice this and don’t react on it, neither does he. I hate it. I hate that just some brushing knees make me want to look at him, to see if he notices it too. I hate that I can’t react to it because I don’t want to disrupt the current mood. Everyone’s happily playing and so am I. But I hate that I want to partially run away. A simple brush, and it makes me want to run away. Because the only alternative is for me to allow myself to indulge in it, to let the feeling of Hansol next to me take over. So I don’t react and we keep playing.

It’s been this way for over a year now. I’ve only known these guys for a little over 2 years. I don’t remember how it developed but surely me and Hansol are something. We have to be, right? Because we don’t behave like friends but we are. Maybe I’m biased, because I see him through a distorted lens, because I can’t help me eyes from sparkling when I look at him. I can blame it on my biased lens that lets me allow Hansol’s behavior sometimes. Because my bias is why I want to indulge in him, yet my brain tells me to run away.

Aren’t brains always the better choice? Yet we choose to ignore it.

Middle of a game Hansol nudges me on our knee connection, lightly so that no one notices. I tilt myself in his direction, knowing he wants to say something. “Don’t reverse, okay? I’ll trap Hoshi.” He whispers. I nod. I notice that Coups noticed but don’t pay it any attention. As instructed, I don’t put the reverse card and simply put a number card to let Hansol do his job. Soonyoung is on Uno, he needs to be stopped. Hansol, like a knight of my biased lens, pulls out a +4 and slams it on the floor. Everyone rejoices at Soonyoung’s miserable cry of defeat as he picks up 4 cards. Amidst the hollering and teasing, in the middle of laughter, I naturally turn to look at Hansol and he naturally turns to look at me. We smile. He locks his eyes with me for 2 seconds. He nudges my knee lightly, and I smile, shaking my head, looking away.

He came around, just like that. And since I’m biased, I prefer it.

By the time our games end, it’s evening. We gathered after lunch anyway so we only had till evening. Everyone gets up to leave. I watch Hansol running after Soonyoung to walk back with him. I was half expecting him to come with me. Stupid bias. I am the last to exit the room and Minghao joins me down the stairs.

I like Minghao, silent, understanding yet deadly. He’s not someone who speaks a lot, but as an observer he’s unparalleled. He pats my shoulder as we get to the bottom stair and says, “Talk to him.” I turn to look at him and he’s looking at me as if he understands the state of my mind. I nod at him and turn to look ahead. We join at the front gate and wave at each other as we say our goodbyes for the day. Everyone takes their paths and I take mine. I don’t turn to look at Hansol, I know he’s walking back with Soonyoung. Stupid fucking bias. Why do I have to hope that he would walk with me? His house is not even in this direction.

So I walk alone. I mean it’s not a big deal is it. In all essence he’s back to normal. But is he? If he was normal, wouldn’t he have exited the room with me? Maybe walked a little while with me? Wouldn’t he have at least waved at me before he left? Shouldn’t he have at least looked at me before he left? Maybe he’s back to normal and there’s tension remaining between him and I. That’s understandable, but then again, the tension is a result of his actions and not mine. Shouldn’t he then at least try to get back to me properly? As much as I enjoy our group fun, I dislike having to cautiously carry myself among them because of one stupid predicament.

When and how will he get back to me?

My phone rings and I roll my eyes. That’s how.

“Where are you?” Hansol asks on the call.

I look to my left. “By the park.”

“Wait for me there,” he says.

“Okay,” I reply.

I take an empty bench and sit. The park is not extravagant, just a few trees and nice grass and lights along a pathway to walk. It’s the barest kind of park there could be. Any positives? Since it doesn’t have monkey bars or slides or stuff, there’s no loud kids around. It’s place where teens and elders come around to sit and relax in silence. It helps that the city is mostly cloudy. It adds to the feeling of silence and serenity. No huge skyscrapers around, suburban expanse to the sides and cool winds. Sometimes this barebones park is quite the specialty in its own way.

I keep looking around and Hansol eventually comes around the park. He sees where I am and walks to me. I don’t watch him as he makes his way, I spend that time on my phone. My biased thoughts chuckle at my discomfort but I can’t be beaming just because he’s coming to me. When Minghao told me to talk to Hansol, he meant that I should talk about yesterday.

Hansol sits next to me. The discomfort makes me shift away a little. He notices. “What?” he asks lightly, looking at me.

“What?” I ask back, cause what’s there to talk about? Me shifting away? Is that what I have to talk about?

“Okay,” he says back and looks at the other side.

“Calm down,” I say to his baby behavior. “I have no problems with you.”

“I know,” he says, looking back at me. Our eyes lock. I can feel the sparkling of my eyes as he stares into my eyes as if searching for something. “Do you have problems with me?” I ask, looking back at him intensely.

He averts his gaze.

He always averts his gaze. “There’s no issues,” he replies back lightly.

“So yesterday was what, nothing?” I bring up the issue.

He turns back to look at me but doesn’t say anything. I shake my head in annoyance and look away. He’s such a lost cause sometimes. I don’t even know if he has any clue about what I say or what he does. “What was it yesterday then? Why did you pick a fight with Ryu?”

“Because he was asking for it.”

“You don’t even know him, Hansol.”

“And you know him, Seungkwan? You know him so well?”

“Well at least I know that he’s in the senior class.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” he replies and lets out a huff. What is that even supposed to mean? How is it a problem if he’s a senior? Is he trying to take every info negatively against the guy?

“I have no idea what your problem is,” I honestly say.

“He was looking at you weirdly,” Hansol says. I look at him, his eyes are fierce again. “He was looking at you so weirdly. Like his intention seemed really off.”

“That doesn’t explain anything!” My voice starts rising. “That is just your perception. How do you know what he was thinking?”

“Tell me then that you didn’t already know that Ryu’s gay,” Hansol snarkily replies. I look at him in disbelief.

“So his sexuality is a problem now? Is that what you’re saying Vernon?” I use his other name cause I’m now offended.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Hansol replies, averting his gaze again. I caught him again.

“That IS the problem isn’t it?” I ask again.

“No,” Hansol replies sharply. “It’s also a problem that you’re-”

He realizes what he’s about to say and stops himself. I stare at him, sort of amazed that he has no idea what he’s saying. “It’s a problem that I’m what, Vernon? Gay?”

He doesn’t say anything. I want him to say something, explain himself. I know he doesn’t mean that but it affects me anyway. Somehow everything comes down to my sexuality. Everything I do or say or want or like somehow comes down to my sexuality. And even though Hansol and the group are few of the only ones who don’t care that I’m gay, even then sometimes it becomes an issue. I’m still insecure about so many aspects of my sexuality and this guy next to me, who my eyes just wander to, him saying anything like that squashes me further. Why do I want him? Why him?

“It’s not a problem that you’re gay,” Hansol says after a while. “I am bound to be worried if you surround yourself with someone like that.”

“You don’t know him,” I say back.

“You don’t either.”

“Just because of that should I stop connecting with anyone knew, Vernon?”

“But he was coming onto you!” he says.

“He didn’t come onto me! He simply complimented me and wanted to talk!”

“And that doesn’t make you worried?”

“No, why should it?”

He falls silent again. And so do I. I’ve captured him in a trap then, where to explain himself he has to try harder. It’s the reverse card that I didn’t use earlier. I wait for him and watch him. He’s looking out into the length of the park, formulating what to say. At least that’s what it seems like to me. I know he’s thinking hard when he stops tapping his right foot and starts trying to breathe properly instead. So I let him gather himself.

“Look,” Hansol starts speaking. “I saw the way he was looking at you even before talked, okay? I didn’t like it. He had those eyes like he wanted to eat you or something.”

“So when he put his arm on my waist you pushed him away and pulled me to yourself and started yelling at him,” I retort back.

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Hansol replies strongly.

“Then why did you go on to put your arm around my waist then? Why should you be allowed to do that?” I reply stronger.

“How can you compare him to me?” Hansol says, offended. He looks offended. That look stops me in my tracks. In reality, I can’t compare them to each other. Ryu is just another guy. Hansol is a friend. For all intents and purposes, everyone calls us best friends. Cause we’re always by each other’s side. Truthfully, it’s not like Hansol hasn’t held me like that before. He has. That’s one of the reasons my eyes sparkle at him. Because every time it happens when he holds me, it’s natural. Too natural. Too comfortable. And even if he did it forcefully last evening in his own twisted effort to protect me, it was natural. It was my space to occupy. I know it. I feel it. But I have no idea how Hansol feels about it. So even if I can’t compare them, I can’t allow to take advantage of Hansol and cling to him because my feelings want me to.

I sigh. I know that my brain cannot think straight either right now. “So you started yelling at him to get his perverted hands away from your best friend.” I said with a huff. I feel a smile coming. I understand Hansol’s motives, as broken and unreasonable and un-platonic they may seem.

“Yes,” Hansol replies simply. “No one should do that to you.”

My incoming smile stops. I take a look at Hansol and he quickly avoids my eyes. I keep looking, expecting him to look back. He intentionally doesn’t. My eyes may be sparkling but sometimes my ears get warm too. And with that I understand another one of his motives towards his actions.

Jealousy.

Because after he was done yelling at Ryu and after Ryu had departed disappointingly, Hansol had yelled at me. “How can you allow him to do this to you!?” He had yelled, so fiercely, pulling me tighter by my waist, as if this wasn’t someone else’s space. I had pushed him away, in anger, not paying attention to what or why he said or did what he did. I had wanted to yell back, but Wonwoo had stopped me. And the next thing I saw was Hansol walking away.

Jealousy.

Or maybe I’m thinking too much. Hansol and I start walking towards my house, silently. I think about that whole scenario. Maybe I’m thinking too hard about it. I have so many instances that could be interpreted in a way that would point towards something more being present between us, but nothing tangible. I’m biased, I can’t simply trust my own interpretations. But why else would he seem like that last night? Why else would he get so angry? Why is it always just me? Why isn’t he just protective over everyone else too?

We reach my home and chat in front of the door. He’s back to normal, so am I. But like always, I’m speaking on autopilot while my head keeps running back last night. If I make sense of it by myself, I just keep thinking to myself that he was jealous. But then it’s a battle between protectiveness and jealousy, isn’t it? I guess if I can’t decide, then I’ll have to search for the answer in his eyes next time around. My brain takes the logical way, but my biased ears simply have a ringing of jealousy repeat in them. I’m tired.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow then,” Hansol says.

“Sure,” I reply. We don’t wave. He just walks in reverse, three steps, then turns, then walks away. I turn and enter my house.

As I walk to my room, I check my phone. One text from Minghao. I open the text as I sit on my bed.

“So? Did he admit or not that he was jealous?” – the text read.

Brilliant. Add that to the list of things that will keep me awake tonight. My biased heart takes over my brain and I believe it. I believe in the idea that he was jealous. And as much as I know it’s illogical to go about it this way, I’m too tired to reason out of it. If my heart could sparkle, it would. Because even if my eyes can’t see him, his corner in my heart throbs either way. This is tiring. I’ll let myself indulge tonight.

Tomorrow I’ll listen to my brain.


End file.
